“Ah! Now we get somewhere! Good, this is good. Please continue, tell me how you are not Special Forces. Are you in the Marines? Perhaps a Navy porpoise?" prompted the Russian.
"What? You mean a Navy SEAL?" Erik said with a shake of his head. He frowned as the Russian scribbled something on his paper and muttered to himself.
"You're not paying attention, Boris!" Erik said. "I already told you—I'm not in the Special Forces. I was recruited by Captain Williams," Erik said very slowly to be sure that the Russian make no mistake about what he was about to say. "To act as a scout for the soldiers that were retreating north from the Russians—from you—in the south. In Miami."
The Russian folded his arms across his chest and looked down his nose at Erik in disbelief. Erik could tell that the man did not believe him. "So," the Russian said, "you wish me to believe that you were just an average citizen, going about your business when the Army showed up and forced you to join their ranks?"
"Well," Erik said trying to hide his nervousness. His voice betrayed him, and cracked. He winced. "No. They asked me to join with them. But I didn't want to!"
"Oh, really?" the Russian said leaning forward once more. "You were drafted then? Ah. That is very interesting." He began writing again and when he had finished, looked up. “Please, go on. I am most interested to know how the Army drafted you into its special forces so easily."
Erik rolled his head back and closed his eyes in frustration. "Like I already told you, I'm not in the special forces!" he said to the water-stained ceiling tiles. He looked down at the Russian again and said: "They offered me two choices. One, I could take my wife and head north with a pass to get me as far as I wanted through any areas held by our military. Two, I could join Captain Winters in the Florida National Guard and assist them in scouting their retreat. When my term of service was up, we would be free to go with all of the supplies we could carry."
"And you, already being a Special Forces soldier, decided to take option two.”
“No—”
“I see…go on…" said the Russian with a wave of his hand.
“You're not listening to me, dammit! I told you, I am not in the Special Forces! I don't know how many times or how many ways I can say this. I have no special training! I was given a gun, a uniform—even a vehicle—and told to range out ahead of the retreating American forces to secure safe passage for our troops as they fled your advance! I was given Sergeant Pinner as my aide-de-camp because Captain Winters knew I wouldn't survive more than a day or two out in the real world as a soldier! Sergeant Pinner was there to keep me alive…to keep me from doing something stupid! Because… I… am…a…teacher! Not a soldier."
The Russian sat there looking at him for another long moment. Erik counted 15 blinks of the man's eyes. Other than his slow, relaxed breathing, the Russian moved not a muscle. When Erik was about at the point where he could no longer stand the silence any longer, the Russian spoke.
"That is an intriguing tale. It would explain many things, but not all."
Erik slumped forward in his seat as far as his restraints would allow him. "I don't know what else to tell you—I don't know any secrets, I don't know any tactics, I don't know any strategies. I am nobody but a teacher who joined up in this fight to help out a friend."
"A friend? Tell me about him.”
Erik didn't bother lifting his head. He could feel hope slipping away from him like sand through an open hand. "Oh, his name's Ted. He was my commanding officer. When we made it to that strip-mall—where your men captured us—wait a minute.” Erik looked up. “I never saw Ted after he…" He narrowed his eyes at the Russian, who allowed a slight smile to spread across his face. "I don't know…
Erik said quietly. “I don't know what I'm supposed to tell you. I don't know if I'm supposed to tell you anything. I may have told you too much."
The Russian laughed. "Now that is the answer of a special forces operative. Very funny!" Another chuckle rumbled out of the darkness behind them. Someone spoke in a deep voice in rapid-fire Russian. Erik could understand nothing but the tone. Urgency.
"Da, Yuri. This is true.” The Russian turned back to look at Erik. He cocked an eyebrow, as he gently gathered up the paperwork and close the manila folder in front of him. He rested his hands on top of the folder and smiled at Erik. "I think we are done for today," he said simply. The man nodded, then started to stand up, the feet of his chair scraping across the linoleum floor.
"Wait!" Erik said. He tried to stand up but found himself still restrained to the chair and sat down heavily, causing the chair to squeak under his weight. He looked around in desperation. With clenched fists he said, "Where's my wife? Is she okay? Can I see her? Please…"
The Russian considered Erik for a moment, and looked down at the folder on the table. He turned to leave, then stopped. With a quick glance over his shoulder, he said "You hear that? Through the walls?"
Erik concentrated. For most of interrogation he'd only heard the Russian’s voice and the pounding of his own heart in his ears. He tilted his head and turned an ear toward the darkness behind him. There. He could just barely hear what sounded like a high pitched squeal. Then silence, then a muffled thump that echoed through the wall. Another scream. His heart begin to race and a fresh sheen of sweat broke out over his body.
"There, you have heard her. She is alive. For now. How long she stays alive is up to you."
Erik was so angry he couldn't speak. Fear and rage battled in his chest for full rights to grip his heart to a stop. He watched in impotent fury as the Russian took two steps and disappeared into the darkness beyond the table. A door opened, flooding the room in the soft afternoon light of an autumn day in central Florida. The door led outside. He could see in the few seconds it took for his captor and the other man that had been in the back of the room to exit that they were somewhere off the beaten path. Instead of blacktop or sidewalk or concrete buildings Erik saw only sandy soil, a few scraggly weeds, and some pine trees in the distance. He also spotted what looked to be the corner of a long, nondescript building. There was a brown roof and a wooden sign in front proclaiming—
The door shut with a solid thump and the light was switched off, dowsing Erik in complete and utter darkness. He closed his eyes and screamed in rage. He struggled with his restraints and could feel the mixture of sweat and blood soak his fingers as he rocked back and forth and pulled on the ropes tied to his wrists and ankles. The chair squealed and groaned in protest but held firm. He hung his head down, exhausted and spent.
He had failed to protect Brin. He had failed to protect Ted's family. He had failed to get them out of Florida, to get them out of harm's way. He had failed to escape the Russians. He’d even failed his first interrogation—he could see that now. The Russian had totally owned him from the get-go.
I don't have any training for this bullshit, he thought angrily to himself. Ted knows how to handle this. Where the hell is he? Where the hell am I, for that matter?
Another scream echoed through the wall behind him. This one was louder and clearer than before. He couldn’t be sure it was Brin—the wall muffled the voice just enough to make recognition impossible. But it was a woman’s scream—that much was certain. Erik threw his head back and roared into the darkness, “Brin! Can you hear me? Hang on, baby! Stay alive!"
He listened for reply. There was nothing but silence. Then, to his sheer horror he heard a rhythmic thumping sound coming through the wall. The blood boiled in his veins and the darkness around him seemed to turn a reddish color. His imagination started running wild, showing him scenes of the depravity of the Russian soldiers whom his interrogator had said had been so transfixed by Brin's exotic looks. More screaming from the other room, accompanied by that damn rhythmic thumping made Erik tremble with rage.
Thump-thump-thump-thump-thump…
"You sons of bitches! I'll kill you all!" Erik screamed. He shouted and cursed until his voice gave out and he dropped his head to his chest, panting. Still the
torture on the other side of the wall continued to the sound of shrieks and grunts in time with that damn thump-thump-thump-thump.
In the darkness, Erik’s spirit quietly broke in two.
CHAPTER 13
Retreat Orders
PRESIDENT SUTHBY LOOKED AT his staff. "You understand—all of you—that this is the hardest decision I have ever been forced to make. I do not want to do this, but I have little choice in the matter." President Suthby looked down on the paperwork before him. In front of him stood Daniel, the senior cabinet officials, and one cameraman to record the event for posterity. Besides himself, only Daniel knew that the camera was also there to provide the United Nations with proof of Suthby’s good faith.
"We understand, sir," said the newly-appointed Secretary of Defense. Despite the fact that he wore a similar expression of sadness, there was a certain sparkle in the sycophant’s eyes that gave President Suthby just a hint of uneasiness.
"It's for the good of the country," intoned the Senate Majority Leader with just the right amount of hesitation. The man looked like he had just swallowed his own vomit. He was good. The dirt Daniel had found on him and a certain underage party-girl was even better. "And it will only be temporary."
"Yes, temporary, of course.” A dim ripple of agreement made the rounds among the nodding heads. “I will strive to do everything in my power to make sure this order is not only abolished but rescinded in full when the time is right. I want it on record that all Constitutional powers will be reinstated in the government of these United States at the very earliest possible moment." President Suthby looked down at the dreaded papers again.
Is this what Reed felt like all those times I was pressuring him to sign those Executive Orders I drafted? No wonder the man had ulcers…
"Sir, we're ready to start filming whatever you are."
The President didn't even bother to look up to acknowledge the cameraman. "Go ahead and start, let's get this over with." He took a few more moments to gather his thoughts and slowly raised his head to stare straight at the camera. He saw someone to the right of the camera wipe tears from their eyes. Suthby was just as upset as anyone, but being overly sentimental about it could lead to a lot of unnecessary tragedy.
"My fellow Americans—indeed I speak to all peoples of the world as represented by the United Nations. This day dawns in the aftermath of the greatest national tragedy that the United States has ever suffered through. Yet, today also dawns with renewed hope for the salvation of this country. For all of us, now more than ever, depend upon and require a strong, stable United States." He glanced down at the papers on his desk again for dramatic pause.
"This document," he said, lifting up the top page to show the camera, “is an official request from me as President pro tem of the United States requesting that the United Nations grant protectorate status to our beleaguered country." He let the paper fall to the desk. "No country—at least not from the Western world—has ever applied for such a status from the United Nations. Thus far, it has been a little used escape for impoverished, war-torn, developing nations. I want every American—indeed every citizen of the world—to understand that I am not doing this out of desperation. This option, in this time of crisis and upheaval, is the fastest method to get our country back on its feet. It is the fastest way to get our economy going once more and to restore balance in order to the world. Above all, understand that this is a temporary measure."
He frowned as he leaned forward over his desk and stared into the camera. "Let me be perfectly clear: this measure is temporary. There is a set date on this document. The powers enumerated in this resolution will expire the protectorate status in five years—if it is not voluntarily done so by a majority of the member nations of the Security Council of the United Nations before that date. There are also some specific conditions that must be met before such termination can be approved by the United Nations General Assembly."
"I know this may come as a shock to most of you. But know this: my decision was not arrived at without considerable thought and due diligence. After an exhaustive review of our national situation, I—and my advisers—can only come to one conclusion. In short, our country is in a shambles. The government has been cast to the wind following the last orders of our late President Reed—may he rest in peace. It stands to reason that someone must be in charge of the country, while we attempt to locate the next in the line of succession as mandated by the Constitution. These include Vice President Jorgenson, the Speaker of the House of Representatives, the Senate Majority Leader, and other top level officials."
President Suthby looked down at the desk, took three calming breathes, and hoped that he looked at least somewhat presidential. When he raised his face to the camera, he proceeded: "The remnants of Congress have seen fit to appoint me as your Commander in Chief on a temporary basis until the next in line has been found. We're doing everything we can to find those people. Until then, the safest course of action for this country is to apply for protectorate status from the United Nations." Despite the fact that he'd already given his Cabinet the heads up on what was going to happen and the ultimate consequences of those decisions, he still heard someone gasp.
"You don't know how hard it is for me to say that.” He paused to clear his throat and regain his composure. “This nation was founded on principles of independence and self-reliance. The mere fact that I now have to go hat in hand asking for help is not only embarrassing, but it shakes me to my very core. I have little choice though, as you are about to see.”
“Our country is beset by not only the economic crisis caused by the power outage which has affected our entire country—we're not only under siege by diseases in our cities like cholera and typhus—our people are sick, starving, and in desperate need of adequate medical attention. Right now, our own doctors, our own soldiers, and our own government officials have been scattered to the wind. Most of our military is spread all over the globe. At this moment, we have units trying to reach America from Europe, Asia, South America, Africa, and all points in between. Tragically, many of those units have been lost. It is unknown at this time how many of our brave servicemen and women have been killed by the treacherous hands of nations we used to call ‘friend’. Nations like Germany, France, and Russia—who have seen fit to take advantage of our weakness and attack our people as they simply try to go home.
“These global recall orders were issued by President Reed before his untimely death and I've seen fit to confirm them. Normally, we would leave our military in place throughout the world to establish some sort of continuity. However, our country is not only attacked by biological and sociological issues—we are also under direct attack by the nations of Russia and China.
“In Florida, the National Guard and local civilians have banded together and are fighting a losing battle against a well-equipped army of Russian nationals. With the help of Cuban expatriates, they've already captured Miami.” He shook his head sadly, the first time during the speech that his emotion was heartfelt.
"I'm sorry about my voice choking there. I never expected nor wanted to be President, pro tem or otherwise. I never expected to be the first President to announce over the airwaves that a major American city has fallen into the hands of enemy soldiers. Foreign troops are occupying American land for the first time since the War of 1812." President Suthby clinched his fist on the desk and emphasis. He tried to drum up some tears and show some sort of deeper emotion on his face for the camera, but found it very difficult. Everything was going according to plan. The Russians were acting a little more aggressive than they had promised, but they were doing their part. They were drawing attention from the search for the next in line to the presidency. They had helped convince the other allies to attack American forces overseas. They had set up everything nicely and it left him no choice but to ask for protectorate status from the United Nations. All he had to do was finish this speech and he would be established as the unelected and permanent ruler of America.
"They've advanced north through the swamps and coastlines of Florida. They have sacked cities and towns, killed who knows how many people, and run American citizens off of their own property. This Russian army has ground troops and air support. When last we had contact with our own soldiers, the city of Orlando had been attacked. I want to make this very clear to all patriots who live in the state of Florida that can hear my voice: you have not been forgotten, you are not alone, and we will rescue you. Unfortunately," he clasped his hands together on the desk. After a brief glance at his papers for emotional effect, he looked into the camera. "Unfortunately, my fellow citizens, we are simply outgunned, out-manned, and outmatched. The Russians and their Cuban allies are simply too much for our Home Guard units to handle on their own. If we had been able to get our men and women in uniform home from Europe faster, there would be no chance for the Russians to advance. We would've turned their backstabbing carcasses into shark bait in a matter of hours. Our military is entangled in fierce firefights all around the world, trying to fight their way to transport ships, planes, boats—anything that will deliver them to the welcoming shores of America."
"Until that day, when our armed forces can successfully reunite on American soil and focus their combined firepower upon expelling the enemy in Florida, I have, with the advisement of our top military commanders, reached a decision to order a complete withdrawal of American forces from Florida.
“Any citizens—any patriots—who wish to remain behind do so with my blessing. I grant you full authority, to take whatever actions necessary to defend yourselves and your property from these foreign aggressors. But be warned, the Russians are entrenching. They've made it clear that they intend to keep Florida. I don't yet know why and honestly I don't really care. I was never trained for this position. I don’t think I need to tell you I'm reacting on instinct here, folks. I believe the best course of action is to pull our troops back to the Florida-Georgia line. From there we will reinforce our forces, reassess the situation, and counter-attack when ready. And believe me, we will strike back. We shall exact a bloody vengeance and we will be victorious."
Sic Semper Tyrannis Page 19
